A/N: inspired by a incredibly cheesy film on Netflix of the same name. I hope you enjoy xx.
"JAAH-AAMES! GET IN HERE, RIGHT NOW!" Eleanor's muffled voice hollered from her position beneath her blankets in the middle of the bed. It was four days until Christmas. Two days until the first Royal Snow Ball for charity that was to be held every Christmas Eve-eve at the palace at the declaration of Queen Wilhelmina. The inaugural event promised to be a spectacular evening of elegance, sparkle, dinner, and dancing. With plates starting at £1500, Britain's peerage and social elite were forking over thousands of pounds that in turn would be donated to 'Better Together'; an initiative spearheaded by the King and Queen to aid in the rebuild of South London, the area that had been most affected by the ongoing housing crisis and suffered immense damage during the blackout several months earlier.
Christmas had always been her favourite holiday, and she was looking forward to it more than ever this year because it was the first holiday that the entire Henstridge family were for the most part, on speaking terms since Robert's coronation, and his subsequent wedding to Willow, the palace's former publicist.
Or as close as speaking terms that Liam being permitted to move his pregnant girlfriend onto palace grounds and into a small, 2-bedroom cottage could bring to Blenheim Palace. The very thought of the impending 'Kiam baby' still made her want to vomit and for now, she was perfectly fine with their living arrangements.
With her twin being out of the big house so he could play house and home with Princess Kathryn- as the media had taken to calling her- left her feeling more lonelier than usual. She was single for the first time in nearly 4 years; her longtime boyfriend, and Robbie's subsequent best friend proposed to her on a private yacht off the coast of Gibraltar in front of all their friends and family with a rock that could have given her mother's a run for its money.
Everyone expected her to say 'yes'.
Except, the word that came tumbling out of her mouth was 'no'.
She had declined his proposal and embarrassed him publicly. Lord Twysden Beckwith II did not take kindly to being told 'no' by the princess. Afterall, he had expected that they would get married. He would rise to the title of Prince. The entire world agreed that they were true love. They were childhood sweethearts, and nothing could ever break them apart.
She had lost her virginity to him in the Westminster Abbey pulpit. A secret both of them would carry to their graves.
Christmas was her favourite holiday, and because of that, she was determined to push her misfortunes to the back of her mind, and focus on what was really important: presents. Friends. Good Food. Family.
With presents being intendedly at the top of her list because she was a princess, afterall. The Princess. Money was no object and there was nothing she loved more than spoiling her loved ones at any possible chance.
There was no want. Only need.
Yet, somehow Eleanor managed to fall behind on one of the more important parts of Christmas- the shopping. She knew what to get the queen. The older one, anyway. The new one she could figure out along the way. Her brothers would be easier enough, and now with no man in sight, she had more time to focus on buying things for the one she loved most of all- herself.
Eleanor cleared her throat, and prepared to shout for her new bodyguard James Hill again. Clearly the man did not intend on lasting very long if he wasn't outside her door where he was supposed to be. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth only to have it shut seconds later when the french doors to her bedroom burst open; her detail at its helm balancing a tea tray and sporting an annoyingly bright smile.
The bastard knew the fact that he had come bearing breakfast negated any shit she was seconds from spewing at him.
"Good morning princess," he said brightly as he set the tray down on the corner of her vanity. It was the one area on the surface that wasn't covered in champagne glasses, stray pots of makeup, and brushes. James wiped his palms on his slacks before turning to the heavy drapery that were still pulled shut. "You've got a free schedule today. Is there anything you would like to do? Get some new sort of trinket for-"
"I'd like to go into London actually," she interjected, pulling her body to the edge of the bed. Throwing her legs over the side, Eleanor leaned forward to pick up the steaming cup of tea that awaited her. It was the right colour; still dark with just a hint of milk stirred in. A small smile spread across her thin lips as she looked back up to him. "I haven't started done any shopping yet for the family. I know we said no gifts this year but I still want to get them something, you know what I mean?"
James didn't answer, instead, he pulled the heavy drapes open with a dramatic flourish. Eleanor hissed; her body flinching away from the bright sunlight that was suddenly streaming into her room.
"About time you let some like into this dark den of yours. You spend far too much time locked up in this tower, Princess. If you want to go into London to buy some presents, then I will take you into London to buy some presents."
Eleanor lifted the teacup to her lips. Her small smile was hidden behind the cup. "And I want to stop at Harry Winston too. We can make a call to let them know I'm coming, but I'd like to get something new for the ball. Since I'm the spinster sister now and all."
"Yes, making sure that you have enough diamonds to stand out from your monarch brother and your twin who is having a baby out of wedlock is of the highest importance, Princess," replied James as he turned to face her once again, now standing at attention with his hands behind his back.
Eleanor nodded her agreement, her face serious. "I have to hold my place in all of this madness, James. I'm boring to them all now." She gestured off to the window; indicating the people outside.
"Maybe boring isn't such a good thing, princess. Maybe boring is what you need. Take some time for yourself, Your Highness," he suggested, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. If it were anyone else, she might have gotten suspicious. James had been on her detail long enough to prove to her that he was indeed harmless, and that his priorities lied with providing a life for his young daughter, and not ruining hers with any chance that he got.
"Spending time at the spa makes it sound like I have a drug problem," she complained, scrunching her nose at the mere thought. Taking another ship of tea, she pondered his statement again. Boring meant that she would have more time to herself and think. Think about things that she didn't want to. Like being single at Christmas. Or what failed in her relationship with Beck. She wasn't that lonely, though. Not yet.
They hadn't spoken in weeks. Not since he finally collected the remainder of his things from the palace. Robbie swore to her on their father's grave that he wasn't feeding him gossip about her private life to him through any illegal back channel.
Robbie assured her that while the man very well be his best friend, she was his sister, and he would always put her first above any friend of his, regardless of tenure. Eleanor was the youngest, by four minutes.. She had the privilege of having a love marriage, and not one of convenience or political strategy. While she loved Beck dearly, Eleanor knew in her heart that he was not the man she wanted to marry.
She was young. She still had time.
But taking it slow?
No, it wasn't her style. It wasn't like even if she did want to go sit in the park and drink her tea and watch ducks instead of homeless people, she could. Not without her shadow. If not James, then there would be someone else. And then that someone would send a tip into D-Throned and the rest would be history.
That would be the end of "Eleanor, use discretion" and she would lose whatever little bit of freedom she had left.
She scoffed, and drank the rest of her tea before setting it back down on its tray with a loud clang. "I'm going to get ready, and then we're going to hit Bond Street. Just the two of us. No burly-looking things in suits. Got it?" She pointed her finger at him warningly, because the second she saw someone else from the palace, she would bolt.
James chuckled and straightened his tie in mock nervousness. "Got it," he repeated, his tone firm. Folding his hands behind his back, and offered her a stiff bow. "I'll leave you alone, Princess. I'll go make the necessary arrangements for a car to be brought around. I'll be right outside when you're ready."
Eleanor slid out of bed and lifted her hands high above her head and stretched; a soft, satisfied moan escaped involuntarily from between her lips. She picked up her phone and walked over to the large armoire on the other side of the room. There wasn't anything particularly interesting or exciting kept in the front; just various dressing gowns and other things that were shoved in there to aid in cabinet's double duty as a not-so-secret door to her closet and en suite. Nothing in her phone was of her particular interest this morning, just texts from her mother's personal assistant. Rachel, reminding her to confirm which tiara she wanted from the royal collection to wear to the ball.
That would be determined when she finally decided which gown she was going to wear. The choices were endless, and each one was more beautiful than the last. She had requested pieces to be brought in from various up-and-coming British designers, but Eleanor had noticed that some bigger names were still mingled throughout. Designers were ruthless; paying top dollar to her stylist to have their names added to her exclusive rack of possibilities.
Her dress for the Snow Ball was the least of her concerns right now. It was something that she could figure out later, and she conveyed that thought yet again to Rachel before tossing the offending device facedown on the top of the large dressing table in the centre of the room before turning to the sliding door that led to the bath, fully intent on taking a long, relaxing shower. Eleanor had a feeling that it was going to be the last bit of peace and quiet she would have for the rest of the day, and she intending on relishing in every single minute of it.
A short time later, the princess reemerged back into her closet; her makeup minimal and hair styled down and pin-straight, the way she preferred to wear it. Since her trip to Harrod's and the surrounding high street was to be a casual and unofficial outing- she was desperate to not be recognized. She wanted to shop in peace, and hopefully the fact that James was with her didn't bring about too much attention. She didn't want anyone thinking that he was her sugar daddy. She found the thought simultaneously horrifying and hilarious.
Eleanor smirked to herself as she toned her appearance down to what she deemed 'boringly common'; dark skinny jeans and oversized white t-shirt with a hint of her black lace bandeau beneath peaking through.
Eleanor knew that her new bodyguard had a young daughter, Sara-Alice, but he wasn't much for talking about her, no matter how hard she tried. If she was going to be stuck with him, the least he could do was open up to her. He did on occasion, but Eleanor got the sense that he wanted to keep his personal life with his daughter seperate from the one he maintained at the palace working for the royal family.
For good reason, obviously. The entire lot of them were clearly bat-shit crazy.
Reaching for a black, wool trench coat, she shrugged it over her shoulders before winding a heavy, blood-red pashmina around her neck. From the selection on the tray before her, she paired it with a pair of black leather gloves that she knew would stay at the bottom of her purse, but her mother, Queen Helena, insisted that 'one must have a gloves on their person at all times', because god-forbid a royal had skin-to-skin contact with a commoner.
"I'm ready," Eleanor announced strutting out into the corridor, adjusting a burgundy wide-brimmed fedora onto her head. For the most part, it shadowed her face and would be perfectly acceptable to wear indoors. Parisian style would save her from being caught by the paparazzi for the rest of time.
"The car is waiting around back, Your Highness. There is quite a sizable group of obnoxious tourists at the front of the palace admiring the Christmas decorations. I assumed you would want to avoid them," James informed her breezily before she could get a headstart in the opposite direction.
His words had their desired effect; the princess stumbled in her stiletto ankle boots. A hand flew out to steady herself against the wall so she wouldn't fall over "You assumed correct, Mr. Hill," Eleanor replied through gritted teeth. Although irritated that it would be a bit of a longer walk than she anticipated, she was grateful she wouldn't have to pause for selfies or listen to her mother's irritating voice booming through a speaker as she described Victorian christmas decorations that were on display that supposedly held strong sentimental value to the royal family.
'If only they knew,' she thought to herself with a bemused expression.
James chuckled as she quickly fell into step with him. The man, while new to her detail, was one of the best bodyguards she'd had in ages. None of them seemed to be good enough. Talked too much. Wore too much cologne. Tried to sleep with her. Again. But not this one. He gave her the space she so desperately desired. There was always somebody else in her shadow. Eleanor couldn't recall the last time she had truly been left alone.
Ever since her break up, her family had become particularly overbearing. Making sure she was okay. Upping her scheduled events and appearances to keep her occupied.
They didn't have to say it, but she knew they were afraid she would relapse and fall back into her party-girl and tabloid grabbing ways. The publicity it would bring would be tedious to deal with. Robert would be disappointed. Her mother would suggest a cleansing retreat in Sweden.
She wasn't that girl anymore. The last few years she spent with Beck she had grown up and became more focused on using her position and status in the world for good. She wanted to help, but Eleanor sadly knew reputation preceded her and she wasn't exactly the ideal royal patron.
She wanted to make her mark. She just needed to figure out how.
Despite her pleas and objections, James did not let her sit in the front, claiming that it was against the rules although Eleanor suspected it was because she couldn't stop fucking with the satellite radio stations and it got on his nerves.
Maybe in another life she would have been a radio announcer. Or had a trendy podcast.
Instead, he kept it on BBC One at a reasonable level, and the two remained silent as he drove through London's busy traffic.
The city was covered in a light dusting of snow and the temperatures were seasonably cool as the day drew on. Shoppers crowded the street and she knew what her bodyguard was thinking: this is hell. She couldn't have picked a more worse time to go out in public.
4 days before Christmas. Why couldn't she just send one of the footmen to do her bidding?
Eleanor fiddled with her purse, ensuring several times that her lipstick, credit cards and an undisclosed amount of cash were safely inside. Checked the time on her phone.
Cursed out the traffic and every Londoner she could see through the dark tinted window under her breath until their final destination was reached, and James was focused with his next exasperating task. This one, however, she did feel bad about: parking.
They were caught between a rock and a hard place.
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
His narrowed.
Hers remained innocent.
"You do not leave the building and you keep your phone on you, ringer on, at all times," he said firmly. The kind of way she supposed a father would lecture his teenage daughter before she went to a party with her friends. "It's incredibly busy in there, and if you're seen-"
"-which I won't be," Eleanor replied, tapping the brim of her hat.
James rolled his eyes as he pulled off into a small side-street and idled the car. He turned in his seat to face her, not even bothering to hide his irritation. "Ah, your great disguise. How could I have forgotten?"
She heard him, but instead Eleanor found her eyes focused elsewhere. Nestled next to Harrods and its dramatic window displays was Harry Winston and his glittering diamonds. And inside Harry Winston, she discovered, was a tall, sickeningly handsome man in a black suit. He was standing near the front window with a serious expression and holding an iPad.
"Princess?"
"What?" blinking, she turned her attention back to her bodyguard, but her hand was already on the Bentley's silver door handle. "James, I'll be fine. I have my phone. I'll text you every ten minutes if that's what you want. Why don't you go to the men's section and look at the shoes? Maybe they have a sale on lifts."
His face was quick to morph into a scowl as hers formed a sweet smile as she opened the door and gracefully exited the car before he had an opportunity to reply.
When she turned around, the man in the window had vanished. There was absolutely no way she could go inside the store. Her promise to James was fresh in her mind and if she set one foot outside of the department store, he'd somehow know. The man had eyes everywhere. While outwardly pleasant and somewhat of questionable height, she knew the man was a former MI5 operative and probably had no qualms in weaseling his way into the security system to seek her out.
Instead, Eleanor easily blended in with the rest of the early afternoon foot traffic and headed inside. She nervously patted the brim of her hat, both adjusting it to keep it in place, and assuring herself that yes, it was still there and keeping her face hidden.
Soon, Eleanor found herself feeling more relaxed as she moved through various departments; purposefully taking her time. While inspecting a silver serving platter she was considering purchasing for her grandmother, she swore she could feel eyes on the back of her head. Cautiously, Eleanor peeked over her shoulder and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the same man from Harrods she had seen earlier. The man with the iPad. Only now, he had on a navy wool coat and was talking on his iPhone. His piercing blue eyes were staring unfocused on the back of her head.
Her heart skipped a beat. What was happening? Who was this fair haired Adonis? Had he seen her too?
Had he recognized her, and was now calling in reinforcements from the Daily Mail?
The platter slipped from between her fingers and went soaring to the floor and began spinning against the tile with a loud, dramatic clatter. For a split second, she and the mysterious man locked eyes before she was forced to break their eye contact, hastily muttering "sht, shit, shit," under her breath to bend down and pick it up before a further scene could be caused.
Straightening back up, she put the tray back down on its display, determined to not look at the saleswoman again. She could sense her suspicion and feel her judgement. No, she was not going to steal it. The former Grand Duchess she was planning on purchasing it for would have ended up hawking it for travel vouchers to Monte Carlo and Eleanor knew she would never see the bloody thing again nor would her grandmother give it a second glance beyond it's hypothetical monetary value.
She wouldn't be surprised if she asked for the return receipt herself. Or, if it were easier, to simply swap it for cash out of the family's accounts. Like some kind of luxury pawn shop for divorcees or disgraced members of the royal court.
The very thought made her roll her eyes deep into the back of her skull as she turned around, and decided to head to intimates to spoil herself instead. She could order for the rest of the family online later. If she wanted to.
Eleanor gasped as she stumbled forward, her heel catching on a piece of loose tile. She scrunched her eyes shut as she felt her hat begin fall from her head and readied for impact, but it never came. Instead, she hit something vertical. Something vertical, hard and warm.
"Ugh. What the fuck?!" gasped the head she assumed was attached to the rock-solid chest her face had previously pressed into.
Oh no.
No. No. No.
They both stumbled backwards and Eleanor braced herself for the onslaught of apologies for the blubbering fool to drop a 'so very sorry, Your Highness'. She half expected James to come bursting through the lift at any moment to arrest him for even coming within a 4 foot radius of her.
Instead, she found herself staring into the icy blue eyes of the piece she had seen in the window of Harry Winston, his phone still raised to his ear; thumb still pressed against the 'end call' button.
"Do you just not watch you're fucking walking?" he blurted, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "If you took off that hat indoors, like a lady, you might actually see where it is you're going," he continued on upon the realization that he now held her full attention.
Eleanor's eyebrows shot up in either alarm or surprise- which one, however, she was no longer sure sure of, and instead found herself momentarily struck by this mouthy, tall stranger. His deep baritone of his voice was smooth, like honey. His accent-
American.
Of fucking course.
Who the fuck did this daft idiot think he was?
Did he not realize whom he was talking to?
Then again, the point of this bloody get up was for him to not realize whom he was talking to.
"My apologies, sir," she replied scathingly, adjusting the leather strap of her cross-body bag in a huff in an effort to release some of her own growing agitation. Keeping her fingers occupied with fidgeting was easier "That hat is part of my outfit, and I can see just fine, thank you. Evidently you're the one who wasn't watching where you were going. Perhaps if you kept your face out of your phone you wouldn't be knocking about!"
He scoffed, and ran his hand through his closely cropped blonde hair. Her fingers twitched against the palm of her hand; somewhere in the fog of her annoyance at this man, whoever he was- Eleanor found herself wanting to run her fingers through it too. She wanted to see if it felt as soft as it looked.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go look at some expensive, lace underwear," she continued haughtily before he could respond. There was absolutely no way she was going to let that beautiful blonde bastard have the last word in. Arguing with an American was of no use. She had heard both her father and brother complain about it on several occasions throughout her life. While she expected this one likely was not a high-ranking politician, she could tell he had an air of arrogance like one. She had been around men like him her entire life, and knew how to handle them; she certainly was not about to waste her few precious moments of solitude having a pissing contest with one over who ran into who in the middle of a crowded department store four days before Christmas.
Eleanor pushed past him without another word, purposefully bumping her shoulder into his arm as she squeezed between his motionless body and a rack of crystal serving dishes. She kept her shin high and eyes forward as she walked away, thankful that she did not hear any rapidly approaching footsteps from behind.
When she was safely hidden behind a rack of silky negligees, she chanced a glance back across the store, but it was fruitless. The crowd was too heavy, and the black wool coat he was wearing was unfortunately generic, and he was nowhere in sight.
She let out the breath she was holding, and sighed as she turned away, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and pretended that her shoulder wasn't tingling in the spot where it brushed against his.